


small-world hang-ups

by Skyuni123



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Bisexuality, Character Study, Coming Out, Coming of Age, Don't Ask Don't Tell, F/F, F/M, M/M, Queer History, Sexuality Crisis, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27470659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyuni123/pseuds/Skyuni123
Summary: sam carter, finding herself, finding her feet, resoundingly not having a sexuality crisis.it's an interesting few years.
Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Carter & Daniel Jackson, Samantha "Sam" Carter/Janet Fraiser, Samantha "Sam" Carter/OFC, Samantha "Sam" Carter/OMC
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> sam carter was my first ever gay crush, and she is what made me realise i was bi  
> also i reckon her character should have been queer.  
> this is a historical exploration of that  
> thanks

“Try it.” Bonnie says, tongue bright blue. She pokes it out at Sam, then passes her the slurpee. “It’s blue-flavoured. You’ll like it. I bet.” 

Sam takes it. She’s always been a little too hesitant, perhaps not ready to try things outright without consequences - her father’s always seen that as one of her best traits - but it does look very good, and it’s a very hot day…

She takes a sip. The sugar is sharp and sweet, exploding across her mouth, and the artificial flavouring doesn’t quite cut through it, but she likes it. She likes it a lot. “What flavour is it?”

“Blue raspberry.” Bonnie says, and takes the slurpee back. 

Sam likes blue raspberry a lot. She likes Bonnie a lot too. 

She’s thirteen years old, precocious, bright, a tomboy, grieving from the loss of her mother, but she knows what she wants. She always has. 

  
  


There’s not supposed to be any parties on the base, not supposed to be any at all, but they’re in Bonnie’s basement, playing music real quietly through her new stereo, drinking really gross beer Bonnie stole from her older brother, John, and talking about boys.

Sam’s not really into boys. 

She likes the concept of them, likes beating them at sports and making dumb jokes, but she doesn’t really  _ like  _ them all that much. Except maybe for Luke Skywalker in  _ Star Wars.  _ Sam really likes Luke Skywalker.

But she really likes Leia too. 

(In the future, she’ll never admit to liking  _ Star Wars,  _ but she loves it, just for a moment.) 

It’s genuinely a problem. She thought for a while that she was broken, that she was missing some tiny part of her DNA that would make her like boys in the same way that Bonnie does, but she knows she’s not. 

That’s one thing about Sam - if she doesn’t know the answer, she’ll find it.

It took sneaking into the restricted area of the base library and then two others outside it, but she finally found a name for it. A title. She finds comfort in names, in titles and classifications. Others mightn’t, but she does. 

But the problem is is that she really likes Bonnie. 

Like… really likes.

Samantha Carter is sixteen years old, and resoundingly not having a sexuality crisis. That is not the problem at all.

She’s settled in herself, knows who she is. 

She just doesn’t know about anyone else. 

Sam’s head is foggy. She’s had about three-quarters of a beer and she feels drowsy and too warm, all at the same time. It’s a bad time to be thinking, and an easy way to spiral. 

“I couldn’t believe it! Adam is such a goofball. I almost told Mr Johnson, but I couldn’t bring myself to, I was so embarrassed. Do you think that means he likes me? I hope so.” Bonnie babbles, right in her ear, and throws an arm around Sam, leaning in close.

Despite the fact she’s had about three more beers than Sam’s one, Bonnie doesn’t smell like them at all. She smells like some kind of sweet and fruity perfume, something she probably stole from her older sister’s chest of drawers. 

It’s a nice scent. She’s a nice person. Sam likes her a lot. 

This is a  _ problem. _

“Yeah.” Sam manages. “Definitely means he likes you.”

“Omg.” Bonnie squeals and draws Sam in for a wild and excited hug. Her bright red curls bounce into Sam’s face, but she doesn’t mind, and just lets Bonnie hug her.

She’s so warm, so comforting, like an immediate balm to Sam’s worries. Sam wonders if she could tell her, wonders how Bonnie would react.

Never. She can’t. 

If rumors get around the base… she’ll never live it down. She’ll never get to officially join the Air Force, will never get to fly to space, become an astronaut, do  _ anything.  _

And she’s seen what has happened to people like her in places like this. 

She can’t. 

“What about you?” Bonnie asks, mouth still frighteningly close to Sam’s neck. She breathes, as she talks, little puffs of air sending shivers down Sam’s back. “Who do you like?”

“Nobody.”

She will never tell. 

  
  
  


Sam goes to college via the Air Force Academy, studies physics, astrophysics, a whole lot of science, trains to be a pilot. She loves the air, always has, ever since her father first took her up in a plane when she was a kid, and comes out of it all with a PHD.

There’s men, more men than her family would probably like, but they never need to know. 

Yes, there’s fraternisation rules, but if there’s one thing that’s easily broken in the Academy, it’s those.

There’s a woman too. Almost.

It’s a rejection that stings.

  
  


Sam flies in the Gulf War, logging more hours than her superiors expect. She joins the Stargate programme, finds herself stuck under Cheyenne Mountain, is wowed and fascinated and feels the touch of space for the very first time.

The Stargate is incredible. The Stargate is impossible. But yet, the science holds, and it works, and she dedicates her time to making the dialing computer work.

It’s absolutely unfair that she doesn’t get picked to travel through it for the first time.

  
  


It’s late in 1993 when Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell gets passed by the federal government. It blunts the joy buzzing in her chest from making the Stargate work and finding Abydos.

It hurts. 

All they’ve done for Earth, all the discoveries they’ve made, and all they’ve found - and they’re still not welcome. 

She knows she’s not the only one, in Cheyenne Mountain, hell, likely even in her own department, but it still hurts.

It’s not something you can discuss, and she has no-one to discuss it  _ with.  _

  
  


Sam takes a few weeks off in early January 1994. She flies to New Zealand - her Air Force salary has been building for a few years, and really, she deserves the time off by now - and enjoys the feeling of being an anonymous stranger in an anonymous country.

It’s a small country. Quiet. Fairly progressive, and it feels safe. 

She hikes, swims, travels the country on a rented motorbike, and enjoys the time to herself. 

Wellington is a city unlike any she’s ever found herself in before. She knows they exist in the States, is sure of it, but she’s never felt safe enough to go. It’s always felt a little like someone’s watching her back home, but here she’s a nobody.

There’s a coffee shop called the Evergreen that she finds herself in most days, just off Wellington’s main art street, Cuba St. It has fantastic cafe food, and an atmosphere that feels… welcoming. 

There’s an edge of stubble behind some of the lipstick, nail polish and tights and joy. Laughter, too. A certain kind of authenticity. 

She gets it, in a way. She wishes she could be so bright and proud and happy too, as well. 

There’s about five days left in her trip when a woman, all thick brown curls and bright red lipstick, drops down in the seat opposite her and nearly spills her coffee. 

Sam’s in the midst of reading some new theoretical physics text - it’s dry and frightening, and tends to dissuade people - and is thus, a little startled.

“Hi.” The woman says, holding out a hand. She’s probably about Sam’s age. Maybe a little younger. “I’m Ari. You’ve come in here a lot lately, haven’t you?”

The fact that she- that  _ someone’s  _ noticed is a worry. It makes Sam a little sick to her stomach. She folds her book closed. “Have I?”

“Yeah.” Ari replies, still holding out her hand. “Don’t worry, I’m not spying on you or anything. I just come in a lot too. It’s a good place to get my work done, where I know I won’t be disturbed.” She gestures over to a pile of books, two tables down. “It’s not quite… salubrious… research, so I can’t really do it in the public library or anything. Are you going to shake my hand or am I going to have to look like a real idiot?”

“Sam.” Sam says, nausea fading a little. “I’m Sam.” She takes Ari’s hand. It’s smooth. Uncalloused, and cool. “Sorry. I was just thrown for a second.” 

“Oh, you’re a Yank? We don’t get a lot of you down here.” Ari says, withdrawing her hand, finally. “What are you doing in town?”

“Holiday.”

“Cool.” Ari nods, placidly, seemingly finding that enough to go on. “She’s a pretty cool place to come on holiday. Can I come sit with you? I’ll buy you a coffee.” 

“...Why?” Sam asks, a little suspiciously. 

Ari leans in a little closer, and whispers, “My ex… girlfriend… is bringing a date here soon. I’d really like her to think I’m cool and happy and have friends and such, not crying myself to sleep every night. You seem credible, even though you’ve got the big nerd book.” 

She taps the cover of Sam’s textbook, which to her credit is both big and kinda nerdy. 

Sam finds herself smiling, just a little. There’s something so  _ disarming  _ about the other woman. She seems so free, so happy. It’s refreshing. “Yes, you can. Bring your books.”

“Oh, thank you, Sam!” Without a second thought, Ari leans over and kisses her on the cheek, then bounds off to get her books. 

Sam just stares back at her, blushing for maybe the first time in her life, and touches her cheek. What on  _ earth. _

Ari is a researcher, studying sexuality and sex work in Wellington for her PHD. “It’s so controversial,” She says, flipping through one of her books. “I’ve had my office broken into four times, and my stuff graffitied, but it’s important. It’s going to be really important.” 

“You’re not afraid of the controversy?”

“Of course I’m afraid.” Ari says, and looks at her, eyes like steel. “I’m terrified. I got beat up walking home from here last week because some idiot men saw me leaving and followed me all the way back to Mt Vic. But I can’t stop. One day, they’ll be on the losing side, and we’re going to win this.”

“I- We? I-never, I couldn’t- I didn’t-” Sam starts, unable to say anything, unable to stop panicking.

“Sam, you’ve spent the last  _ week  _ coming to a gay coffee shop. You look more comfortable here than most people do even walking past. Have I really misread this or-” Ari leans in, places her hands over Sam’s clasped ones. “It’s okay. Seriously.” 

“I can’t… say. I really… really can’t.” 

“You don’t have to say. Who you are is up to you. You don’t need to justify yourself.” Ari rubs a thumb over the back of Sam’s knuckles. “Tell me, though feel free to tell me to just fuck off as well, do I have a fighting chance?”

She drops a kiss on the back of Sam’s hands, and then places it back down. 

Sam reddens again, embarrassingly. “I don’t- I’ve never- With a woman- ugh. What I  _ mean  _ to say is that-”

“It’s okay.” Ari says again. “I’m a very good teacher.” 

She winks. 

  
  


They sleep together, a few times, in a tall windowed and draughty flat off Cuba St. It’s exciting, and good, and feels natural.

And Ari’s right. She is a good teacher.

  
  


Ari drives her to the airport the day she flies out, bids her off with a squeeze of her hands. 

Sam knows she’ll never see her again, will never again get to become the person she’s been for the last week when she gets back home.

It matters, it hurts, but she’ll live with it. 

She has to.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for the f-slur

Sam joins SG-1, goes to Abydos, Chulak, planets wide, wild and far between. It’s her dream job, her dream life, exploration of worlds like and unlike their own. It is unbelievable and beautiful, all at once. 

They end up on a planet, sometime within the first year of the mission, and stumble upon a wedding under a copse of what look like olive trees. It’s a bright affair, full of colour and light and dancing, and the wedding parties are both dressed in lurid purple and orange robes.

They also don’t seem to mind when two groups of strangers emerge through the Stargate and just… watch. SG-1 is escorting SG-21 on their first offworld mission, and all four members of the newer team have to steady themselves after emerging from the gate. 

The couple getting married are two men, one tall and bearded and the other tall, almost albino, and beautiful. 

They’re both smiling widely, grins stretching across their faces as a priestess - of some sort - wraps ribbons around their joined hands, and says a few words. 

They hold the pose for a few moments as some of the assembled throw confetti and flowers and cheer, then they kiss. It's altogether a beautiful ceremony, and an absolutely gorgeous event. 

"Fucking fags." One of the airmen - Johnson, or something - in SG-21 spits. Sam feels a sick kind of fear, a sudden nausea creep up in her stomach at his look. The airman looks disgusted, completely so.

"Drop and give me eighty, Jacobson!" Colonel O'Neill snaps.

The airman looks astonished, "Sir-"

"Now, Jacobson. That's an order." O'Neill barks. "I don't care about your precious small-town hang-ups. We're on another planet, and you're going to respect these peoples' wishes unless they give us reason to do otherwise, understand?"

"Yes, sir." The airman says, looking more than a little bit irritated. But, he drops to the ground and starts doing push-ups in a methodical and smooth way.

"I hear any of that shit from any of the rest of you," O'Neill says, eyeing up the rest of SG-21, "You'll be joining him. Got it?" 

From the murmurs from the rest of SG-21, it's pretty clear they're listening. 

Sam just looks on, a little astonished. An enlisted officer saying something like that - so openly - it's unheard of. 

As they look on, the wedding seems to wrap up, dissolving into more flower throwing, and a lot of clapping and cheers. A woman in a long red robe trots gently over in their direction, and O'Neill and Teal'c head towards her, looking determined to potentially cause some kind of galactic incident.

"Funny." Daniel mutters, wandering up behind her. "We travel through a wormhole across the universe, essentially break all the laws of science that these men know, and the one thing they all have a problem with..." He trails off at her worried look. "I'll stop talking, for the sake of the US military's sensibilities. Just saying, this isn't the first planet we've been on where they're a little more egalitarian than we are. It's not going to be the last." 

Sam wants to say something, wants to ask more - what had he seen? What does he know? Is he... - no. It's not though she can't ask, Daniel is a civilian, after all - but she can't. She bites her tongue. 

They leave Jacobson there, still doing his pushups. He looks sweaty. And annoyed.

Good. 

  
  


Sam still can't shake the anxiety, going to these planets, finding herself in the company of women, men, and others besides, living their lives so happily and freely. It's fantastic. It's wonderful. It's amazing.

It makes her jealous. Unbelievably jealous.

She has a few boyfriends, finds herself forming special connections with men - it's always men, it's only men - and falling in love with them, almost. Sometimes they die. Usually they die.

It feels a little bit like a curse sometimes, though she's sure she's just getting caught up in suspicion, caught up in guilt, stuck in a spiralling loop of having a secret, hiding it, and being on the verge of it being found out at all times. 

She loves being in SG-1. 

And she’ll never, ever tell. 

  
  


Janet Fraiser is a beautiful, talented, amazing woman, and then she dies. 

She is so much more than a list of names, and a series of lives. She's walked through Sam's life and changed it for the better. She is so much more than a body in a box.

Sam feels a little like her heart's been ripped in two.

The General gives SG-1 a couple of weeks of bereavement leave. O'Neill goes fishing. Teal'c spends his time on the base and off it, and Sam just... sits. In her house, sometimes in her bed, feeling the hole in her heart fill her chest with grief.

It's not what Janet would be doing. It's not proactive at all, but she can't do it. She held it together for the funeral, for the ceremony, for the cameras... but she can't anymore.

Somewhere a few days into the haze of it all, there's a knock at her front door. It's Daniel, and only Daniel, holding a box of beers and a haunted look in his eyes.

She's still wearing sweatpants. She's not washed her hair in days. It's a very bad look.

"Hi." He says, and doesn't bat an eyelid at her appearance. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah." 

He rather blatantly opens a few windows while she goes to put a sweatshirt and some socks on. It's only Daniel, and she's grieving, so it's not like it matters, but she wants to be warm.

He's sitting on her couch, flipping absentmindedly through the channels on her TV. He doesn't look like he's slept in a while, but she knows she looks worse.

"How's... things?" He asks, as she sits down.

She shoots him a look. The meaning of it is probably fairly obvious.

"Yeah. I get that." He says, and pulls a beer out of the box. "Want one?"

It's cheap, something familiar and blessedly average. "Yeah."

They toast. It's a melancholy thing, nothing that matters, nothing that's good enough for her, and drink in silence for a bit. The TV plays in the background, some quiz show that together they'd probably be able to ace, but it hardly matters. Not really. They drink their beers.

"I had this friend in college, right." Daniel says, staring off at the TV, though clearly not actually watching. "Was doing an crazy amount of classes, same as me. Sat down next to me in my first lecture, and never really left. We spent so much time together, after it all. Incredibly clever, bright, funny - would light up any room. Whenever we ended up working on the same project, or at the same parties, or even just trying to find the same book in the library, it was like we were the only people in the world. Funny, that." 

"Sounds like a good person." Sam says, and takes another sip of her beer. It's lukewarm, but it hardly matters.

"Yeah." Daniel replies, a little wistfully. "The best. We had this incredible friendship - you know when just seeing someone makes your day better? Like that. Then, one day, got hit by a car." He says it matter-of-factly, like it doesn't really matter, though to him, it clearly does. It clearly did. 

"Shit." Sam swears, jolted a little back from the wistful memories. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah." Daniel takes another swig of beer. "Long time ago now. Hurt though. I was sitting at the funeral, tears pouring down my face, watching the extended family - had the most ridiculously large extended family, it was almost something out of SNL, that's what it felt like - and then I realised I was in love with him."

He says that matter-of-factly too, like it doesn't really matter. Like it doesn't matter at all. 

But to Sam, it means something. It means everything. It means she's not alone, that there's someone else who gets it. "Oh." She says, weakly. Her hands are shaking.

"Yeah." Daniel goes back to his beer. "Kinda funny to realise that in hindsight. I'd wasted so much time." He shrugs, takes another pull on the beer. "Hindsight."

"Yeah." She can't say the words, can't say anything at all. Her chest hurts. She feels a little like she's about to cry, but she's all cried out, a dried-up well of fears and tears, with nothing left to give. "Hindsight."

"It's... okay. To look at her death and... think about things. Consider things differently. I think it's human, that. Reconsidering. " Daniel says, and he's not even looking at her, not even directing his words to her, instead looking back at the TV.

The host is asking a question about the capital of Australia, and Sam can't even focus through the smudges in her vision. She takes a deep breath, pulling in air, her heart pounding, and speaks, just as Daniel says, "Canberra."

"I think I loved her too." 

"Yeah." Daniel breathes, nothing more than an acknowledgement, but it's something, and he's there, and he gets it.

And it's enough. 

Or at least, nearly enough.

  
  


They clean up her apartment, drunkenly. Cry a little, argue a little more, but mostly trade memories. Of Janet, of their lives, of finding themselves in a world that doesn't quite get it. 

They dust down the counters, drink a couple more beers, watch some terrible reality television, and just exist, for a bit. It's not easy to come to terms with the death of someone they loved, but they're trying, and that's what matters.

It's easy enough to collapse into bed with Daniel at the end of the night - nothing sexual, nothing at all, just platonic touch and comfort, some warmth to fill the stone cold pit in her stomach, and just lie there, wrapped in his arms, empathy, and the feeling of being seen for the first time since New Zealand, so many years ago. 

"How'd you know?" Daniel asks, a quiet voice in the dark. "About... everything? When did you figure it out?"

"Years ago." She says, then snorts, alcohol loosening her tongue, "I snuck into the restricted section of the base library and figured it out."

"Oh, of course you did." Daniel crows, soft laughs muffled by her shoulder. "Come on. Really?"

"Yeah. How else would I have found out? It's textbook me."

She can feel him shake his head against her shoulder. "Unbelievable. Samantha Carter, you are both incredibly predictable and unbelievably ridiculous. How are you even real?"

“Shut up.” She says, and elbows him somewhere in the ribs. “What about you? How did you figure it out?”

“Oh, I didn’t.” Daniel says. “I didn’t even guess. Blame my upbringing, I guess. You spend enough time in socialised, healthy environments, where everyone's a little more touchy than you might expect from the traditional American beefcake, it just seems normal to admire them. Healthy. Positive, I might add. Wasn’t until Jake that it actually hit me.”

“If you’re going to rant about the injustices of the military industrial complex I will have to smother you with a pillow.” Sam groans. “I know. I’m aware. There is absolutely nothing I can do about it, personally.” 

“I didn’t bring it up.” Daniel says, brightly, “You did! That being said, I think Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell is an unbelievably regressive policy that casts vulnerable-”

Sam hits him in the face with a pillow. He retorts. 

The night continues, a little like that, with tears and happiness.

It could be worse. 

**Author's Note:**

> yell at me on my [ tumblr ](http://eph-em-era.tumblr.com)


End file.
